


To Lose Time Is To Lose Much

by VolxdoSioda



Category: Dragon Quest XI
Genre: Character growth and expansion, Emotional Manipulation, Families of Choice, Gemma gets a better shake, Jasper gets a second chance, Multi, Selectively mute Luminary, Tags to be added, Unhealthy Relationships, Villain Redemption, one-sided romance (Gemma/Hero), toxic families
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2020-07-20 04:08:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19985845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VolxdoSioda/pseuds/VolxdoSioda
Summary: There’s always another timeline out there, somewhere. One flap of a butterfly’s wings creates a hurricane, or so they say. One small change brings about great revolution.AUs, drabbles, and other small ideas.





	1. Gilded Verse | Jasper's Survival

**Gilded 'Verse**

**What if...** Jasper survived the fight at Mordegon's castle?

Of all the things he expects to happen following that final confrontation on the bridge, waking up is not one of them.  
  
And yet, he does.  
  
He wakes, and there, that is his ceiling. His walls, his fireplace, his bookshelves, his bedding.  
  
The Luminary, arms tucked beneath him as he slumbers on the side of Jasper’s bed--  
  
Wait. _What?!_  
  
And now he is truly awake, not merely drifting under the assumption that this is a comforting demise. For no death he knows would house the Luminary; and if the Luminary is _here,_ it means Mordegon survived the assault they had planned. It means his former master is still alive, still destroying the world.

As best Jasper knows, this child beside him would not allow such a thing to occur. Which brings about another possibility. That he is truly alive once more, and the Luminary is guarding him after a victorious defeat of the creature who once promised Jasper the world on a silver platter.

A promise he now knows is utterly false. A promise he knows he himself did not need to seek, because all he desired was right before him. 

_Arrogant, egotistical,_ he's been called. Never have the words rung so true before. But he would tack one more title onto that board - _envious._ A creature bright green with jealousy over things he had no need to be jealous of. There's a chance what Hendrik told him on the bridge was a padded lie, made to make him give up, but. It doesn't feel like it. He's always been able to tell when Hendrik was lying to him, and best he can tell, the bridge was not one such time. 

So the question becomes _why. Why_ allow him the courtesy of survival, when all he's done is bring calamity and pain to those around him? Why bring him back, when their victory has been assured?

"Awake, Sir Jasper?"

He snaps his attention to the Luminary once more, and the boy rises, rubbing at his eyes like the tired child-- no. No, he is no child. No child would do so much for so little. No child would rise up so _kind_ in the face of so much cruelty. He isn't dealing with a child. He's dealing with a man. A very tired man, who judging by the circles beneath his eyes, hasn't slept much at all. 

Jasper feels hot shame eat away at his insides. He doesn't allow it to show. "For now. Why am I here?"

"Because this is where you belong." The Luminary cracks his neck, and then sighs, soft. It occurs to Jasper he's never heard his voice - he's seen plenty of signals, and finger-spelling, but never actual words. He'd assumed the Luminary mute. Perhaps not. Or perhaps merely selective about it. "Hendrik wished it, and so did the King. And so we brought you here to recover."

Jasper feels his throat tighten, and forces the panic down. He's known for a long time his actions would have consequences but -- this is the first time that realization has been allowed to sink in. That he knows he no longer serves a dark lord, that he is responsible for the crimes he has committed while following Mordegon. He could claim he was tricked, bespelled, but the awful truth is he let Mordegon in because it felt _good._ It felt good to be told that it was Hendrik's fault, that he was to blame, that all this could be fixed if Hendrik just _died._

Now he wonders how he ever could have thought such terrible things about a man he once claimed as his oldest friend. How he could have fallen for so simple a trick. 

"I take it," he says, and manages to keep his voice level, which makes him proud. "The execution is slated for whenever I am strong enough to walk to the guillotine."

The Luminary blinks at him, and then those brows furrow, and he tilts his head. "Sir Jasper, they don't want you dead."

Jasper laughs, harsh and crow-like. "I am a treasonous bastard."

"So I have been told."

"I hounded you like rats in a sewer for months! I betrayed my King, my countrymen, sold my soul to the devil himself to put myself ahead!"

"Yes, I've been told that too. More importantly however, I was there." He doesn't like the way the Luminary looks at him, so calm, so collected. So knowing. There's not a trace of pity in those eyes, which just makes it hurt worse. There's just so much understanding. Too much. Jasper turns his gaze away. 

"It would have been kinder to leave me on the bridge," he whispers. "You should have let me die."

"Hendrik didn't want that. And I don't know if you're aware, but Hendrik is important to me. He has never asked me for anything, outside of defeating Mordegon. He has expected nothing of me. So when he begged me to save you, I did. And when he asked me to bring you back to Heliodor once the rooms were fixed, I did. And when he asked me to watch over you, I did. I didn't do them because of what I thought about you, or what people told me to do. I did it because I saw what happened, and even now, I see."

"And what do you see?" Jasper demands, shaky. "A wretched man, not fit for life, lying in bed, feeling sorry for himself?"

The Luminary looks at him a long time. And then says softly, "I see a man whose refusal to speak to his friend about his own heart darkened him. I see a man who chose, at the very end, to lay himself bare, and learned a valuable lesson. I see a man who, upon returning from the blackness, no longer believes he is worthy of anything. And that man is wrong. You _are_ worthy, Jasper. Worthy enough to get back on your feet, put your armor back on, and help Heliodor rebuild. Help the world rebuild. Put Mordegon behind you. Your King needs you. Hendrik needs you. And I need you."

"And what would the Luminary need with me?"

"Your sharpness, your wits. Your knowledge of the battlefield. Hendrik can train me in every weapon until there's nothing left to teach me, but I need to know the field I'm stepping onto as much as I know my weapons. I need to know my enemies. What to look for. How to take advantage. When to turn tail. You can teach me what Hendrik can't - strategy."

"I doubt your friends would want me around you," Jasper sneers.

"It isn't up to them. I've already told them my plans, and they've gotten their arguments out of the way. They can be as dissatisfied as they want, but this is my decision, and I will stand by it no matter what. Now. Are you with me or not, Sir Jasper?"

He shouldn't be. He doesn't deserve it. No apology will fix this. No amount of begging, or prostrating himself, or wishing he could go back and undo his own arrogance. 

And yet. Perhaps atonement can be found here. Perhaps he can start fixing what he broke by doing as the Luminary asks - by teaching, and helping Heliodor rebuild. He might never be trusted again, and the King will likely cast him out as soon as he is done.

But the prospect of at least earning back _some_ of his honor is... kind. He wants that, very badly. 

"Who am I to stand in your way then, honored Luminary?" He inclines his head. "As soon as I am able, I will help with the rebuilding efforts. In the meantime, drag that table and a chair over, and bring me the books on the ground behind the door."

"We're starting now."

"I don't believe in waiting," Jasper says. "We do this now, while I've the strength. It will be some time yet before I'm able to stand." He can already tell trying to get out of bed isn't a plausible idea - which means further humiliation later on, when he has to use the facilities. Well, crawling on his knees would suit him, at least.

The Luminary nods. "As you like. And Sir Jasper? Call me El, or Eleven, if you must. All my friends do."

 _Eleven._ The boy, now man, that he hunted across several countries, all in the name of a lord no longer alive. "If you'll drop the 'Sir' from my name. I'm hardly noble blood anymore."

"You are, even if you don't believe it. But as you like."

"The red book is where we'll start. Page 6, Chapter 1. We'll begin with the basics..."


	2. Gilded Verse | Old Dog, New Tricks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jasper learns some things about the Luminary.

**Gilded Verse**

**What if...** Jasper survived his fight at Mordegon's castle?

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Jasper prepares himself for the drudgery of teaching El the finer points of battle; most of his students during his time at the castle quickly learned that Jasper was a vicious taskmaster who expected his students to actually remember most of what he was teaching. Unfortunately, most of them were young men of the wandering sort of age, and they never earned anything further than their Jasper's tired acceptance of their attempts. 

El however, turns out to be a surprisingly sharp and diligent sort of student. He takes notes, asks questions, wonders about doing things like this or that. Never before has Jasper so itched to get onto a training ground so that he and his pupil might put the 'can I' into practice. Can you do it like this? Sure, if you don't mind losing an arm. Can you do it like that? Perhaps if you're quick of foot and able to duck, then yes.

Yet it isn't just the studies where Jasper finds himself with company. The young man returns ever morning, leaves every evening, and Jasper only need knock on the wall between their spaces to get aid should he ever require it. The young Luminary resides in the bedroom newly built beside his own - quarters that will one day house Hendrik, if the whispers Jasper has heard between the few people in the castle are to be believed. 

His sharp ears do him service here, as he can't leave the room yet - the doctor having not yet cleared him for anything past a brief trot to the facilities and back - but he can listen as people walk by.

And they do. A lot. 

The consolation prize is that El finds it just as annoying as he does. "I've told them to shove off, but they just circle back after a few hours."

"Curious, no doubt, about the survival of a traitor." He idly flips through the pages of the third book in the series they're to start today - and what a shock that is, that they're already so far. As soon as his muscles return and he's able to walk, the physical training will start. Having seen what the boy is like on the battlefield, Jasper knows some of what to expect. But he also knows the boy is crude; during their time as enemy, he had a harsh habit of flinging abilities and spells about both towards ally and foe. His method of attack was very 'kill it until it dies', which granted has it's place on the fields of war at times. And given he was going up against enemies in far greater experience than he, it was a valid tactic.

But now they have _time,_ and Jasper will see that the Luminary, that _El_ learns _some_ semblance of grace out there on the battlefield before he must fight again.

El looks at him from beneath his fringe. "Nobody knows."

"What?"

Jasper stares at him. Part of him wonders if this means Carnelian too, but no. Hendrik likely would have told him the truth, which begs the question of why Jasper isn't hanging by his entrails. And why El would lie.

El lifts his head just slightly, and for a moment Jasper expects him to say something. But his gaze flickers behind his own shoulder, to the double doors where he can still here snatches of murmurs from the guards outside as they quietly talk among themselves. El lifts a hand, and begins to speak, this time with hands instead of mouth.

"Nobody thinks you're a traitor, Jasper. We haven't told them what happened to you. We only told them that Mordegon took you, and was using you like he used Carnelian. We said that we found you up on the bridge to Mordegon's chambers, that you were out of your mind, and we had to fight you to bring you back to sanity. We haven't told them anything else."

Jasper knows the language of hands - all the knights of Heliodor do, just in case. It's been years, so his tracing is a little shaking, but he manages to get out a jagged, " _W_ _hy?"_

"Because it's true. You aren't inherently bad, Jasper. I heard Jade and Rab and Hendrik speak of you. You are a good man who made a bad choice. You were jealous of someone you thought was favored, someone you thought had surpassed you. Someone you thought looked down at you. But now you know it's not true, and you're making an attempt to fix what you've done, the same as Hendrik did."

"Hendrik?" Jasper breathes. El's eyes flicker towards the door, and Jasper lifts his hands again. "Hendrik? What does he have to atone for?"

"Hunting us. Chasing me. Hurting me. When I first came back, after the World Tree fell, I think I scared him. He kept expecting me to demand retribution of some kind, I think. The same with Carnelian, when I first arrived at the Last Bastion - Cobblestone. But truthfully, I just wanted closure. I wanted to see if the man who hunted me so relentlessly was like that without Mordegon's guidance. If they had been, I likely would have refused to help. I would have left them behind, and gone looking for my friends without them. But Carnelian told he he would atone by helping my family and friends, by keeping them safe, and Hendrik swore to stand with me no matter what, and kept me safe even when he didn't have to. And now you're doing the exact same thing. You're teaching me, and you've promised to help rebuild. That's all I need, Jasper."

There's a shuffling noise on the stone outside, and a shadow moves beneath the door. Jasper flicks his gaze to El, who scowls, and goes to the door. He makes no sound crossing the stone floor, and when he rips the door open, there's a squeal as their listener tumbles forward onto the flagstones.

Jasper expects one of El's friends to be the one listening - perhaps the little blue-haired thief that so scowled at him whenever they'd crossed paths. And he does recall two of the Luminary's associates being blonde, but this one is neither dressed in the green-and-white attire, nor the red-and-white one. It takes Jasper a moment to realize _this_ blonde girl is one of the Cobblestonians he had put in the dungeon. A creeping desire to hide takes root as she gets to her feet, knees scuffed by the harsh stone. He nearly succumbs to it, especially when she turns and glares at him, until El steps directly into her line of sight, offering his back to Jasper. 

"Gemma, go _home,_ " El orders, and there is nothing delicate or childish in his tone now. Instead, it sounds very reminiscent of the tone Hendrik uses when he's on his last thread of patience with his troops, and expects orders to be followed to the letter. "I don't need a guard at the door, and I don't need you underfoot, bothering me when I'm trying to get Jasper back on his feet. Get out, and go home."

"I will not! I'm not going to leave you here alone with that jerk! He burned our village to the ground, and he nearly killed us! Nearly killed you! What's to say he won't do it again?" She tries to walk around El, but he neatly sidesteps in her way, keeping her back from Jasper. 

"The fact that he's wounded, and the fact that he's trying to atone for what he's done while under Mordegon's thumb, and the fact that I've got a great big hulking sword and he can't even lift the lightest one I have right now? There's a million reasons, Gemma, but none of them explain why you were lurking outside the door, listening in, when Amber and all the others have already gone back. It's safe now, you can have one of the soldiers escort you--"

 _"I'm not going back!"_ Gemma yells, and Jasper winces as her shrill tones pierce his head. "I've spent enough time waiting for you to come back home, and you've spent enough time off gallivanting around! Don't think I haven't seen you with those other girls--"

"Don't raise yer voice at me," El snaps, and his voice takes on a slight accent - something between what he's heard in Lord Robert's voice, and his little blue friend. Something that makes all his consonants sound sharp, the verbal crack of a whip on a field, and all his vowels into low growling things, the dogs of war ready to be let loose. "Ah've tolt ya before ah'm not comin' back to Cobblestone, ne'er again, not aft what yew and everyone's been pushin' on me, but more to ta point, _those ather girls_ are Serena and Veronica, and they're the truest friends ah could ever hope ta stand with! They don't wannae me like that!

Jasper bites his tongue on that last point. He isn't entirely correct - the one in the green dress looks at him sometimes when El isn't looking, and it's a look he's seen on the faces of wives and spouses whose husbands have finally come home after a long time out on the war fields. Yet still, her devotion to the Luminary certainly surpasses this of Gemma, who raises her voice louder still and shouts back, " _You promised me--"_

"AH TRYSTED YE NAETHIN', BAPIT LASSIE," El screams, and there are footsteps thundering close by, doors slamming open as his comrades rush to discover what has set their leader to screaming. Jasper has heard enough, and as he sees the girl swell up like a balloon, furious and red, he makes an unwise choice to try to get out of bed. He feels muscles scream at him, but Gods help him he can't leave the boy to face this battle himself, not after all the Luminary has done for him.

He's halfway out of bed and sweating furiously when Hendrik and Lord Robert charge into the room, weapons in hand. "Laddie, what are ye--"

"Git 'er it ay mah sights, grandda," El orders, and he's flagging, and Jasper shoves himself the rest of the way out of bed even as Hendrik makes a sound like stone being ground down to dust and rushes forward to catch him before his legs give out. Jasper manages to find the strength to grab El by the shoulders and haul him back, away from the girl that Lord Robert has a hand on the elbow of, tugging her from the room with a firm hand and a no-nonsense scowl on his face. "I cannae tak' anither moment ay 'er voice in mah lugs."

By now his accent is so thick Jasper can barely make the words out, but he doesn't need to. This is a battle he wasn't prepared to fight, or perhaps a fight he has fought so long he no longer has any strength left in him. Regardless, Jasper fights his own body to drag the boy back with him, and sits on the edge of the bed with shaking legs. Hendrik works with him now, hastily grabbing a chair and gently pushing El into it. The boy sits hunched, hands pressed to his eyes, exhaustion bleeding off him like water out of a broken dam.

For the first time since this whole thing started, Jasper takes command. He grips one of the Luminary's shoulders and orders firmly, "Breathe, Eleven. You must breathe. Calm yourself, the danger has passed. We will not allow her back in the castle again." He makes brief eye contact with Hendrik, but his counterpart is of the same mind as he, and nods fiercely.

"It is as Jasper says," Hendrik states. "Your friend she may be, but if Gemma holds this power over you, then she will be kept back until you are strong enough to hold her back."

There's a shaky breath from El that speaks of tears held back. Unthinking, Jasper reaches out and brushes a strand of hair away from El's face. 

"I cannae dae it. I've tried afair, but... she jist doesnae listen!" There's a sniffle, and something glistening escapes from beneath his palm. This time it is Hendrik who wipes it away. His expression is pained - he wants to do something but can't. They both do. Jasper has seen this child face down monsters, demons and Gods, and he has never faltered, never wavered. Yet for this one person, this one lone chit to bring him down... it speaks of a problem nobody ever considers when they speak of heroes. 

"We will stand with you on this matter," Jasper says, voice resolute. "No matter how long it takes, or what it takes - if we must move you to another nation, we will. There is room here for you in Heliodor, surely. We can speak to King Carnelian on your behalf, have him put out orders--"

Hendrik is already nodding along, but when El shakes his head, they both stop. "No," he says, and the accent is beginning to fall back. He's starting to sound more like himself. "Ah cannae do it. Ah cannae be a coward about this."

"This isnae cowardice, laddie," Robert states, walking back into the room. He closes the door behind him. "That lassie isnae well in th' head. Ah know you've tried ta reason wit' her afair. Ah've heard ya." He walks over, and gently turns El to face him, pulling his hands down away from his eyes, and brushing the tears away with the sleeve of his robes. "Och, lookit ya. Yoo've faced doon th' mightest ay th' mighty, but 'at lassie destroys ye in under a minute."

"Sorry," El whispers, and that does something to Jasper's heart that _hurts._ Like someone's reached in and ripped it out of his chest. Hendrik doesn't look much better. "Ah'll be better--" But Robert's already shaking his head firmly. 

"Leae it tae us. it's time we adults stepped up, insteid ay lettin' ye kids dae uir wark."

He looks up and meets Jasper's stare. There's a threat there, hidden away, but there's also a judgement there, weighing him. Jasper meets his gaze, and does his best to convey _I will stand by him now, no matter what._ It must reach Lord Robert at least in some part, because the older man smiles and nods, satisfied, before turning to Hendrik. 

"King Carnelian awake?"

"He is."

"Then we start thaur. After, we gang tae Cobblestone, an' spick tae th' fowk in charge thaur. Enaw is enaw, as far as aam concerned. Ah willnae hae mah loon hurt again."

Jasper can barely make heads or tails of what is being said. He looks up at Hendrik, but the man seems able to perfectly understand Lord Robert. "Of course. I'll inform King Carnelian of your coming. Perhaps take a few moments to calm yourself."

Robert clicks his tongue and makes a shooing gesture with his hand, even as El laughs wetly and says, "You probably should, grandda. You're a little hard to understand to people not from Zwaardsrust or Dundrasil."

"Ah dunnae want to hear it, come from ye, laddie. Screamin' yer head off in mah own tongue."

"Got it from you."

"Hush now, ye wee loon."

El turns his attention to Jasper. "I'm sorry about all that. I knew Gemma was at the door, but I didn't think-- Well. I guess I just didn't think."

"You are forgiven, due to the fact that, as Lord Robert so eloquently pointed out, you have been awful busy running around saving everyone from themselves and that rather imposing castle of darkness in the sky," Jasper points out mildly. "Perhaps take a moment or two to rethink your decision to move to Heliodor. I'm certain King Carnelian or ourselves could help you find a nice, peaceful spot where nobody would ever know you."

"It's nae a bad idea, El," Robert says, and finally, Jasper can understand him again. "We need to rebuild Dundrasil, but Heliodor can offer ye shelter in the meanwhile. And Jade will be here. She can keep an eye on ye."

"I don't want to put anyone out--"

"On the contrary," Hendrik interrupts. "You would be putting us out by moving back to Cobblestone, and worrying us sick. We would spend hour after hour wondering if that girl is assaulting you in some manner or another, and I may very well flee to your side every hour on the hour to check on you."

"And who knows," Jasper picks up. "Maybe I'll extend my patrols to go right by your door. So that I can ensure nothing untoward is taking place."

El huffs, but the sag to his shoulders speaks of gratitude. He goes silent, but after a few moments, Jasper hears his breathing even out, and realizes he's fallen asleep. 

"Ack, there's a familiar sound," Robert murmurs, amused. "Wore himself down, he did. Aam thinkin' it's time fur a nap. Hendrik?"

"I will see he makes it to his room safely," Hendrik replies quietly. He kneels, and carefully scoops El out of his chair. In Hendrik arms, he seems even smaller, more vulnerable. The thing in Jasper's chest twists again.

"I take it you taught him that," he directs at Hendrik. "Falling asleep whenever you can."

"I taught it to them all," Hendrik says. "Some learned it themselves, but those who didn't, I taught. Light sleepers, one and all. He's only like this now because he's spent so much time worrying about you, and the rest of us."

"He doesn't need to concern himself with me. I'm old news."

"Perhaps. But he still looks to you for guidance, now." Hendrik's gaze feels like molten steel up against his spine. "I will say this only once - if you betray him again, my blade will find your heart, Jasper. And it will not be merciful."

"I am aware." He lays back against his own bed, suddenly worn. "Of that, you can be sure."

Hendrik leaves him like that, with books scattered across the bed, the table and chair dragged over. Jasper rolls what he now knows over and over in his head as he falls back to sleep, and mentally sticks a tack in _The Gemma Problem._

He will come back to it soon. But for now, he needs sleep.


	3. Gilded Verse | That Phoenix, In Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jasper finds himself changing in the face of the El's despair; El simply desires things go back to the way they were. 
> 
> The Gemma Problem escalates.

**Gilded Verse**

**What if...** Jasper survived his fight at Mordegon's castle?

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

“The Gemma Problem” does not go away overnight. 

Jasper has no idea what Lord Robert and Hendrik say to King Carnelian, or what they say to the townsfolk of Cobblestone, but by the next morning El has yet to emerge from his chambers, the town’s mayor Dustan, his wife, and Amber have all shown up to demand an audience with the King, and Hendrik and Robert are both looking as sour-faced as if they were told a great hulking dragon has taken up residence in the castle with the single-minded desire to set the small child they both care for aflame, and it will not leave until it does that precise, exact thing.

There are screaming matches. This Jasper knows for sure, because despite being made of stone, the walls are cracked or chipped in spots, and so from above him and slightly towards the left, Jasper can make out the barely-there sounds of King Carnelian raising his voice, Amber raising  _ her  _ voice, and Robert outdoing them all with a bellow that even a minotaur might find a little terrifying.

He doesn’t hear the words, but he hears the tone. Anger, fury, and on the heels of that, pure disgust and exasperation. Only once does he hear a full sentence, and it comes from Lord Robert, who roars, _ "My loon isnae gonnae marry 'at lassie, nae sae lang as I’ve breath in mah lungs! An' if ye hink yoo're gonnae change 'at, 'en yoo've anither hin' comin'!" _

Evidently, the leaders of Cobblestone are not taking El’s refusal to court their daughter lightly. What Jasper doesn’t understand is why they’ve allowed a childhood fantasy to get so out of hand. It’s one thing, if she would be after him for being the Luminary, the legendary hero of Erdrea, or even for just being El, the Legendary Hero of Erdrea. But this infatuation has held since childhood, long before the girl would have possibly known about who he was. Not unless it was a secret among the elders of the village, and they went and told their little darling daughter all about it. But from what Jasper’s seen, that isn’t the case. They only learned the truth shortly before El left the village to come to Heliodor that first day, back when all this started. 

So why? Why allow something so small to grow into something so deadly, so dangerous? If ever El were to wed another, what holds the girl back from committing jealousy-fueled murder? Hells, if ever El showed even  _ affection  _ towards anyone beyond his mother figure, what would hold the girl back? It’s pure poison, and they’re up there, fighting for the girl’s right to wield it against their Luminary like a weapon. 

His strength has returned to him at least somewhat; he feels better than he did yesterday, as if the struggle to get El to a sitting position before he fell over was enough to rouse his body to better itself. Today, he wobbles his way to the closet, and dons his armor. Truthfully, he’s not sure whether the King will allow him to wear it, not after what he’s done, but he’s taking a bold step in assuming that its presence here means he is meant to wear it again. He can’t find his hair tie for the life of him, and he can’t recall where he last put it either, so he’ll simply have to - literally - let his hair down for today.

Done with that, he takes a moment to rest, wiping sweat from his brow, and performing a few breathing exercises to help him. When his body is calm again, he finds his sword, tucks it into place, and then leaves his room for the first time since his arrival here, and heads for El’s room.

The guards outside start badly at his approach, and immediately lock up into resting position, all thoughts of talk long gone. Jasper waves them into an ‘at ease’ as he passes, and they sag like puppets with their strings cut. He keeps his chin up, his eyes straight as he walks, but he still hears the whispers as he goes.

“Is that Sir Jasper?”

“He looks rather pale, doesn’t he?”

“Do you suppose he’s fit for duty yet, after what happened?”

“Nobody’s seen him since the Luminary brought him back--”

“--going to the Luminary’s door--”

“Where is the Luminary today--”

Jasper stops before the door and listens. There’s sounds of movement inside, so El is awake. He gently knocks, and listens to the boy freeze. “It’s only me, Luminary. I am alone, so you can--”

Before he can say more, the door is opened, and he’s grabbed and yanked inside, the door slammed shut behind him a second later. Jasper goes sprawling, but he doesn’t hit the ground - rather, he lands on a nest of pillows. 

“Sorry,” El apologizes. His mouth is shut tight, skin paler than normal. The blinds in the room are drawn tight, and there is barely any light to see by except by the few candlesticks lit by his bed, and the fireplace, which is dwindling. Jasper conjures a fireball to be able to see, and finds the boy in a thin nightshirt and a pair of pants that look far too big on him, hair mussed like he’s been running his fingers through the strands. He looks entirely different than the put-together youth he’s so used to seeing. “Sorry, sorry, I just--”

“El,” Jasper speaks softly. “What is it?”

The boy fiddles. Runs hands across his own shoulders, his arms, wraps them around himself in a hug. Self-soothing movements, Jasper realizes with a hint of alarm. He’s  _ afraid.  _

Something dark and vicious claws its way out of his heart. “What’s happened?” he demands in a tone that tells El he won’t be put off.

El won’t look at him. His eyes are suspiciously bright. He signs, “I didn’t want this. I thought. I thought if Hendrik and King Carnelian and Granddad spoke to them, they’d make her stop. I didn’t want this.”

“This is not your fault. You must believe that, Eleven. If nothing else, you must  _ know -  _ you have done everything you could to deter her. You’ve spoken to her, and I saw you last night. You were being clear. This is not on you.”

“I led her on. That’s what… that’s what they’re saying.”

Ice. It’s like his veins are suddenly made of it, so cold and all-encompassing, he can barely breathe. “How,” he hears himself say, as if from a great distance. “Can you lead on a girl that you have barely seen? That is determined to have you come hell or high water?”

El shakes his head. He looks like he wants to sit, so Jasper rolls until he’s on the edge of the makeshift nest, and then pats the space beside him. Gingerly El lowers himself down, pulling legs to his chest, and wrapping arms around himself. He doesn’t look much like the fabled Luminary, or even like a hero. He looks his age now, unsure of the world. Unsure of himself. 

Jasper can’t believe he ever thought this boy a threat. Ever thought him  _ the Darkspawn.  _ Ever thought that Mordegon was right when he whispered that  _ this child would destroy Erdrea.  _ He’s been such a fool. An utter, complete fool. 

He makes up for it now. He unclasps the cloak from his armor and wraps it around El like a blanket, and then scoots closer. “Tell me,” he says again, softer this time, as he would handling a spooked horse. “Tell me what you need, El.”

The boy presses his lips tight together, head bowed, eyes shut. A few wayward tears escape, but Jasper pretends not to see them. And then at last, El signs a single word.

“Out.”

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

  
  


Quicksilver is a crossbreed between the Zwaardrust noble-stock breed horses made for pulling chariots and showing themselves off, and the Dundrasilian stout working class breeds made for pulling great lots through fields or farms. Much like Obsidian, he towers over most other horses, and he is endlessly loyal to his master.

But much like Jasper himself, he is tempermental about who is allowed around him. And so when Jasper sneaks himself and El out through the King’s chambers, out through the secret route to the paddock, he stuffs his and El’s pockets with plenty of treats, knowing that Silver will need plenty of positive reinforcement and coercion to allow El onto his back. 

Sure enough, once they’re within sight, Quicksilver’s ears draw back sharply, and he bares his teeth, stomping a single hoof down in demand. Jasper pulls the shivering boy close, and says, “None of that, my pretty. Those buffoons up there have cast enough insult on him for one day. He is one of ours.”

One of Silver’s ears ticks forward, listening to his master’s voice. He’s also understood Jasper’s words - perhaps not all, but he’s keen like Obsidian, if a bit slower to thaw to people. He understands when Jasper says ‘one of ours’, and the great nostrils flare, smelling the youth. The horse lets both ears come forward after a moment, and the great neck stretches out, the nose brushing El’s hair in curiosity. 

El sneezes suddenly, which causes Silver to let out a little whinny of indignation, which in turn causes El to  _ laugh.  _ It’s the first time Jasper’s heard such a noise, and he has to admit, it’s nice to hear, especially now.

“Sorry,” El croaks, using his actual voice. “You’re very impressive, you know? I got a little shy.”

Quicksilver  _ certainly  _ understands ‘impressive’ in regards to himself. He arches his neck and shakes his mane, tossing his head up a little as if to say  _ why yes, I  _ **_am_ ** _ rather impressive, thank you for noticing.  _

“Zoom definitely has nothing on you,” El continues, pouring the flattery on. “He’s quick, but I bet you’re like the wind. Like lightning.”

“He is,” Jasper says, picking up where El stops. “Quicksilver is one of the fleetest of foot our army holds. The only other who comes close is Obsidian himself, but he’s more of an attacker than a speedster. I daresay if I were to put my darling in Gallopolian race, we could come out on top.”

Quicksilver is downright preening now, neck arched high, muzzle up, standing straight, practically ready to prance his way right out of his stall to show how majestic he is. El’s biting his lip, and seeing a chance, Jasper quickly presses some of his favorite treats into El’s hand and nudges him forward a bit.

The only thing sharper than Quicksilver’s mind is his nose. His head comes down and nostrils flare, and in the next moment he’s giving El the biggest, saddest eyes he can manage, nudging him with his nose as if to say  _ please sir, I’m so hungry, I’ve not eaten in months, won’t you spare a scrap for little old me? _

“Here you are, then. Payment ahead of schedule, for letting me so close. Thank you.”

Silver gulps the apple slices down, nibbles the carrots, and eats the pears in one quick snap of his teeth. Jasper saddles him while he eats, and by the time El has run out of treats, he’s standing at ease, clearly recognizing much like Jasper has that the boy is no threat. 

“Have you ever ridden with another before?” Jasper asks as he mounts up. “If not, I’ll put you in front.”

El shakes his head, and offers up his hand. Jasper pulls him up easy, and scoots him back until El is comfortably situated, before flipping El’s hood up and nudging Quicksilver forward. Eleven isn’t wearing his usual purple and green attire, and so with his hood up, nobody will know who he is. They make it out past the castle gates at a leisurely pace, Jasper keeping an eye and ear on the world around him. 

There are a few people he doesn’t recognize here and there - Cobblestonians, if the turn of their clothing is any indication. But they aren’t making trouble, and perhaps more importantly, they aren’t talking about El. A few soldiers salute him when they see Jasper out and about, and he returns the gesture as they move past the gates of Heliodor, and out into the wider world. 

Truth be told, he has no idea where to go. El merely stated he wanted out, and so Jasper has brought him thusly. “Any particular ‘out’ you would like to go?” he murmurs to his comrade as they go. 

El shakes his head, and his fingers say “You pick.”

“Very well.” He knows a little grove of trees not far from here, hidden away beneath bush and branch. It will serve for now. A breather, so El can remember that he is alive, and well, and he has as many options as he wants available to him in regards to the future. He kicks Quicksilver up into a light trot, and keeps to the path. The day is like something out of a fairy tale to Jasper’s eyes; blue skies, fluffy white clouds, a nice breeze to keep them company as they go. Flowers in full bloom, Yggdrasil full of life and light. 

To think, this was what he once desired gone. He shakes his head at himself.  _ Fool,  _ he thinks  _ Utter fool. _

El’s hand suddenly grips his wrist on the reins tight, his intake of breath a little more than a gasp. Silver’s gone tense beneath him, ready to spring. Jasper doesn’t turn his head, but he listens, and he hears it.

Hooves behind him, keeping to the same pace, almost the same rhythm. Barely off. Someone is attempting to stalk them. 

On habit now, Jasper’s eyes flicker down to El’s hands, which sign frantically “Gemma. She’s on Zoom.”

He takes one hand off the reins slowly, to cover his movements. Keeps his back straight as he pushes El down low over Silver’s neck, and murmurs “Hold tight, and do not let go.” He takes in a deep breathe, lets out the two-whistle signal for  _ ride hard  _ and then throws himself down over El and grips the reins tightly.

Less than a second later, Quicksilver takes off like a bat out of hell - and they all hear the exclamation behind them, of shock, surprise, and then the sound of hoofbeats racing after them as Gemma gives chase atop Zoom. Yet Quicksilver proves his name is no mere joke - they soon leave her behind in the dust, and Jasper’s mind goes into overdrive as he treats this less as a joke; now he does it his way, and treats it as a race against an enemy agent. He runs them to the grove, and breathes a spell of wind behind them to cover their tracks when they’re close enough. The hoofprints in the dirt vanish as Quicksilver tumbles into hiding, and El frantically whispers a spell of growth to cover the broken branches and leaves behind them. 

Then, they are silent, and still as they wait. 

At length, Jasper hears her. The frantic gallop coming up fast on the path they left behind. Gemma’s gasping as she rides as if  _ she  _ were the beast, and then, to El’s horror, the sound of what sounds like a whip being used. Jasper hastily covers his mouth and shakes his head, and El bites down on his lower lip. She runs right past their hiding spot, and it’s only once the hoofbeats are out of hearing range that they at last emerge. Even then, Jasper is cautious. 

“Zoom,” El croaks. “Oh god, she-- God, if she hurts him--”

“She will not,” Jasper says, but he isn’t sure, not truly. If a girl is unhinged enough to chase them down, to hunt them like a voracious predator, she could very well be ill enough to whip a horse to death for failing to find her chosen victim. “That horse means much to you, yes? She will keep it in good health to stay in your favor.”

“Zoom can’t run very long,” El whispers, wringing his hands. “He’s sick! I-I named him Zoom because of a joke Erik made, back when we first met. How the horse looked like it was ready to zoom everywhere and anywhere I wanted to go. I didn’t-- Oh  _ god.” _

“Steady,” Jasper urges. “Take courage. Think, El. If you were her, if you wanted someone so bad, bad enough to hound their every waking step, would you harm something of theirs?”

“No, but--”

“Then in this at least, you must trust she will not harm Zoom. She will tire him, perhaps, but if need be Hendrik and I can lay him behind our horses, and take him back to Heliodor for rest. He will be safe.”

“The whip though,” El moans. “The whip!”

And that too, sets Jasper’s teeth on edge. It is one thing to spur a horse on until exhaustion. Another to whip them as one rides. Eventually, they will tire of the whipping, and either throw their rider, or throw themselves. In either case, it is never a good thing. 

“We will go back to the castle. I will give you to Hendrik, and I will chase the ridiculous girl down and get Zoom back.”

“ _ Jasper!” _

Jasper looks up. “Well well, speak of the devil. Hendrik! I’ve need of your assistance!”

“For Yggdrasil’s sake, man!” Hendrik roars as he rides closer, Obsidian huffing as he goes. “The whole place is in a panic! What are you doing out here?!”

“I-I-it’s my fault,” El starts, but Jasper shakes his head.

“The girl,” he says, looking Hendrik in the eye. “I offered him a quiet place to get away from the pathetic bickering of her parents and the King, and who should come chasing after us but the girl herself. We hid until she left, but she was on his horse - Zoom - and whipping him as she went. If I gave El to you to take back to the castle--”

“No,” Hendrik grits. “We go together, Jasper. Your Silver is faster. Eleven, you will ride Obsidian back.”

“The adults,” Jasper starts, but Hendrik slashes a hand through the air. 

“The King and his grandfather will see to him. And last I saw, Princess Jade herself was entering the throne room, Sylvando in tow. I doubt those three can stand up against all of us if we put ourselves before them. He will be kept safe, if not by them, then by the castle staff. They adore him so.”

“They do?” El asks, perplexed, and then squeaks as Hendrik comes up to bodily lift him from Quicksilver, and in front of him, on Obsidian. The great black mount tosses his head and snorts, but gives no other complaint as Hendrik swings himself onto Quicksilver’s back, behind Jasper. 

“He will keep you safe,” Hendrik says. “Just don’t tug on his reins. Let him guide you. He knows the way.” To his horse, he says, “Do not mistreat him. He is one of ours, Obsidian. Treat him like you would a foal.”

The great black horse bobs its head once, and then turns and starts back the way he came. It’s only once horse and boy are out of sight that Hendrik turns back to Jasper.

“If she has killed Zoom, I will wring her neck,” he says calmly. Jasper gathers the reins in his hands, and tries not to let the rage inside him show outward. It would beneath him.

“If she has killed that boy’s horse, you shall have to get in line behind me, old friend. I will drag her back before the King and see her hanged, drawn and quartered before the sun sets. And I guarantee you, our King would not argue.”

“Then ride fast.”

It’s the last words they speak for a time, as Jasper bows himself over Silver’s neck, the horse off like a shot again, and Hendrik in turn bows himself over Jasper, a pair of demons speeding off after the girl causing their boy such harm.


	4. Gilded Verse | Family Of Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Gemma Problem reaches a resolution, and Jasper opens a new chapter in his life. 
> 
> Hendrik makes a fool of himself.

**Gilded Verse**

**What if...** Jasper survived his fight at Mordegon's castle?

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

In the end, it doesn’t take them long to find horse and rider. Zoom’s inability to run far catches up to him, and they wind up hearing her long before they spot either of them. 

“Ugh, stupid horse! Get up! We’ve got to find El! C’mon, get up you lazy thing!”

Over the next hill they find them; the horse flopped down on the grass, body quivering with sweat, flecks of foam showing at the corners of its open mouth as Zoom pants, hauling in breath after breath. Gemma standing near his head, reins in her hand, trying to yank the poor beast to its feet once more. “Get up, I said!” she yells, and misses Hendrik hopping off Silver before he’s even come to a complete stop. His face is like a black cloud as he snatches the reins from her hands, and she gasps, whirling.

“Sir Hendrik--”

“That is  _ enough _ ,” he snarls, and there is nothing of the fatherly commander who scooped El up in his arms a mere two nights ago. This is far more reminiscent of the day he faced down Jasper in the ruins of Heliodor Castle, vowing that he would stand with and protect the Luminary. “Did you even ask permission to take this horse before you went galloping off, or did you merely take it because you felt it was owed to you?”

Gemma puffs up, slaps her hands on her hips. “This horse belongs to Cobblestone! We can do with it what we want! And besides, how else was I supposed to bring El back? He’s gone gallopin’ off with that snake-faced demon what burned our town down, after sayin’ all this strange stuff about how he never promised me nothing, talking in tongues and whatnot! It’s clear as day he’s being manipulated, and I’m not gonna let it happen!”

“He is not being manipulated,” Hendrik says with great patience. Jasper would applaud him for such a show, except his hands are a little too tightly wrapped around the reins to do so. “Jasper is no threat to him - he is as I am, ever a protector of Heliodor. And the ‘strange stuff’ he is saying is not strange - he is refusing to marry you. It is not the end of the world. Those ‘tongues’ you speak of comes from his grandfather’s lineage - Dundrasilians have a very thick accent. When he gets upset, it comes out.”

“Chalky never had no accent!” Gemma snaps. 

“I am referring to his  _ living  _ grandfather, not his surrogate. Lord Robert of Dundrasil. The old man who escorted you out earlier.”

“Rab?” She blinks up at him, confounded. “But… he ain’t royalty. He doesn’t dress like it!”

“Just because one does not dress like it does not make him any less than royalty,” Hendrik says. “He is still Lord Robert of Dundrasil, grandfather to Prince Eleven of Dundrasil. Which brings us back to this issue you seem to be having about marriage.”

“There isn’t any issue! He’s just gone and gotten cold feet. He’s scared of how much he loves me, but as soon as I talk to him, I can bring him back around, and then we can go back to Cobblestone and live happy, like we were meant to.”

Jasper can’t help it. He stares at the young woman, who seems so utterly  _ confident  _ of this fact. “Did you miss the part about him being noble blood, girl?”

“What of it?” she demands. “He loves me, so surely--”

“He doesn't love you,” Jasper snaps back coldly. “Right now you scare the shit out of him. What man would be with someone who chases them down, demands they return to a place they do not want to be, and declares that they are not allowed to come and go from that place as they please? For God’s sake madam, you chastised him for having  _ been away saving the world  _ and then daring to continue traveling with women that you implied were  _ not proper.” _

Her face goes red. “Well, what are they doing, out of their village, anyhow? A woman’s place--”

“Is wherever they desire to be,” Hendrik stops her before she continues, which is good because Jasper has to count his breaths to stop himself screaming in pure frustration. “Those two girls you cast insult on are daughters of the House of Arboria, Keepers of the First Forest, and protectors of the Luminary. Many years ago, their ancestor Serenica journeyed with Erdwin, and help him cast back the blackness that nearly destroyed our world. The entire village revolves around the legend, and they have done themselves and their people a great honor by standing by Eleven in this time of darkness and calamity. Without them, we surely would not have survived.”

He’s playing it up a bit - Lord Robert is quite the diligent spellcaster himself, but Jasper has seen both daughters in battle, and he knows they played their own roles well. Still, it stops the young lady from saying her immediate thoughts. It doesn’t take a mind reader to see what she thinks of young girls being out and about fighting on the battlefront, but she curbs her tongue. 

Hendrik gently pulls Zoom up, the horse no longer winded, but not in any condition to ride. Hendrik won’t ride so long as they’ve a passenger, and automatically Jasper dismounts as well. Silver casts him a  _ look _ , but walks over next to Zoom and gently nibbles at his sides, before butting him forward a bit. Once Zoom starts walking, Hendrik and Jasper do as well. Gemma reluctantly follows.

They both know that if this issue isn’t addressed by the time they reach Heliodor again, it will only get worse. And that in turn will upset the King, who expects them to keep the Luminary safe still, even though he’s done his duty. 

So Jasper decides to cut to the quick of the matter. “Why do you feel he owes you marriage?”

“Because we’ve been promised since we were little. And that’s the way things go.”

“According to who?”

“Grandma and Granddad. Grandma says boys don’t know what they want, so you have to know for ‘em. And they’re flighty, so you have to keep a firm hand on them, and not let them wander. Otherwise other girls will snatch them up. But you’ve also got to be caring and kind, and patient, because if you pull too hard, then they’ll just run away anyhow.” She smooths out her skirts. “I’ve tried to be all those things, but it seems like no matter what I do, El just runs further and further away. So I thought, if I tried pushing him a bit, he might come around. That maybe he just needed a firmer hand. And Amber said I had the right idea of it - that even when he was little, he was always wanderin’ about, never staying put.”

Jasper exchanges looks with Hendrik, and finds his own emotions reflected on Hendrik’s face; alarm, and the silent question of  _ who in the name of Yggdrasil told them this was  _ **_proper?_ **

“And I’ve seen the way they look at him,” Gemma continues, low. There’s something like anger creeping into her voice now. “Those two girls - the tall one especially. I know she wants him. But she can’t have him because I’m not gonna let him go. I’m not going to be laughed at because I couldn’t keep the boy I was promised to. He and I are going to marry--”

“No, you won’t.” And this time, Jasper doesn’t try to hold back. He’s exhausted both mentally and physically, he’s tired of playing nice, and there’s a certain aspect of his heart that thinks of how frightened Eleven was earlier, and feels far too raw over it. “Earlier, we spoke of nobility. And perhaps you weren’t there when he said it, but Lord Robert has been quite firm that so long as he lives, Eleven will  _ never  _ marry you. And in the event of his death, because of their ties, King Carnelian would step up as patriarch of the Dundrasil line. And King Carnelian is alive, well, and has a daughter, who acts like a big sister to El. In the event of  _ his  _ death, Lady Jade is old enough to assume the throne, and old enough to assign a bride to her younger brother. In the event of  _ her  _ untimely demise, the throne would go to Crown Prince Eleven of Dundrasil.” 

He stops, and looks at her dead in the eye; she’s gone pale as a sheet. “So you see, no matter which way you slice it, and no matter how you cry and wail on about marriage or what is or is not proper in Cobblestone, the fact remains that it is not going to happen. You may kill Lord Robert, and even our good King Carnelian. You may even manage to take out Lady Jade. But even with all those naysayers and guardians gone, Eleven himself will still hold the throne, and his will shall be absolute. No soldier, woman, man or child in Heliodor would disobey him. No one would disagree with him. And were you to march up to the throne room and declare that he was supposed to marry you, and he told you  _ no,  _ you would be dragged, kicking and screaming, from the premise, and Cobblestone would be taken off the map, and all persons within forbidden from trade or travel to Heliodor ever again.”

“And naturally by extension,” Hendrik says. “Our allies would hear that, and pick up the message. Gallopolis and Gondolia would close its doors to you. Arboria wouldn’t be much better. All the major cities would close you out. With no trade, no wares going in or out, no new sales, your people would slowly starve themselves out. Or they would change their ways, their names, and perhaps manage to sneak themselves into the cities. But Cobblestone and it’s ways would not remain long.”

“You can’t do that! That’s not fair!” Gemma cries.

“And stalking, harassing and demanding that a sixteen year old boy marry you because of a petty promise made by your  _ grandparents  _ over several years ago is? Demanding he stop talking to people, treating him like an object rather than a person, and the women of your village  _ taking  _ men like cattle rather than asking if they would like to marry them - is that  **_fair?!”_ **

Hendrik’s hand on his shoulder stops him. He bites back the anger that wants to rise up, harsher than ever before. The look in Hendrik’s eyes say it all -  _ she is a child.  _ And she is. Sixteen is not adulthood, no matter what the supposed elders of Cobblestone say. He turns his face, and takes in several deep breaths. Calms himself. 

“More to the point,” Hendrik says. “You and your elders are forgetting one thing. Were this Cobblestone, perhaps this might be acceptable. Except it isn’t. You are on Heliodor’s land, in King Carnelian’s court. You may argue and bicker all you wish, but his word is law. If he says his nephew will not marry, then he will not marry. If Lord Robert says his grandchild will not marry, then he will not marry. And if the Crown Prince of Dundrasil says he will not marry, then  _ he will not marry.  _ You need to accept that.”

“I don’t have to accept anything,” Gemma rejects. “Not until I hear it from El himself.”

“You’ve heard it from him numerous times, and you ignored him,” Hendrik replies. “It is why we are where we are now. Because he is telling you what he wants, and you are ignoring him and his boundaries. Just like your grandmother and grandfather and his surrogate mother are currently up at the castle, insisting they know what’s best for him despite his clear statements of what he wants. Insisting that he is still a child when before this, he was their  _ little soldier,  _ your hero coming to save us all. You insist he is an adult, so treat him like one. Do not patronize him, do not tell others what he wants. Let him speak for himself.”

“But he doesn’t know what he wants! He can’t!”

“I think you’ll find he does, and he can.” 

“The way of the people of Cobblestone does not extend to the rest of the world,” Hendrik says softly, looking up at Yggdrasil above them, bright and gleaming. “After all he has done, he is allowed to find his own form of happiness. Wherever - or whoever - should grant it to him.”

“And if such a thought disturbs you, then perhaps you should be wondering if you are truly in favor of him, or if you only desire him when he is meek, and beneath your thumb,” Jasper finishes, and lets the walk lapse into silence. 

He can only hope their words have an effect. She is young - she can still be swayed from her way of thinking. If what she said is any indication, the adults back at the castle are going to be the real problem. 

He can only hope Hendrik’s horse hasn’t killed anybody in the name of keeping his ‘foal’ safe. 

  
  


x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Obsidian has  _ not  _ killed anyone, mercifully enough, although that’s certainly not for lack of trying, according to one of the maids, who meets them by the entrance to the castle, wringing her hands frantically, while another escorts Gemma up to her grandparents.

“Oh sir, I’m ever so sorry, we tried to git ‘em out of there, honest! But your ‘orse wasn’t havin’ it sir, refused to let the young master outta ‘is stall. An’ when his muver be comin’ over, wantin’ ta speak wif him, well, Obsidian tried to take a bit outta ‘er! We hurried her off quick like, but he’s still in a mood. Please be careful sir!”

‘A mood’ is putting it mildly; Obsidian’s sire was a renowned warhorse of some expertise, so before they even round the corner they can hear him screaming and thrashing about. Nobody’s managed to tie him down, but he’s standing in front of the stall, legs flared, ears back, clearly ready to charge at whoever rounds the corner.

He stops when he sees Hendrik, ears coming forward and body relaxing. “At ease, Obsidian. It is only myself and Jasper.”

There’s a soft blow, and a softer sigh as Hendrik pats his mount, pressing his forehead against the muzzle. “You did very well, protecting him so earnestly. Thank you, my friend.”

El is sound asleep in the very back of Obsidian’s stall, partially buried by hay, like a mare would do for her foal. He doesn’t so much as stir as Jasper puts Zoom between Obsidian and Quicksilver’s stalls, loading him up with hay and feed and wiping him down before allowing him to bed down. Zoom’s head bobs, and as soon as Jasper is out of the stall he’s laying down, groaning as he goes. Both Obsidian and Quicksilver stick their heads over into his box and speak to him in soft nickers and blows, and then withdraw. Zoom is sound asleep moments later, and both warhorses remain obediently quiet. 

It’s a surprise when Hendrik turns and extends El to Jasper; before he can stop himself, his arms are sliding between the boy’s body and Hendrik’s grip, and Hendrik is pulling back, leaving him with an armful of young Luminary. 

“I need to see to Obsidian, and to Quicksilver as well. I won’t be but a moment. Why don’t you take him upstairs, back to his room? Get him settled.”

“And if I should encounter the family circus?” Jasper asks lightly, hefting his ward a little higher. 

“Take caution, and do not let them touch him. If you need to go on the offense, hand him to Sylvando. That man’s as lethal as any mother bear.”

It’s sound advice. Jasper easily recalls the man from memory, and the amount of times he’d seemed almost like a mother hen hurrying her chicks this way or that. Much more suited to taking care of the Luminary than the woman he currently has, a woman who doesn’t even have the balls to fight for her son’s happiness. Jasper’s lip curls at the thought. 

He takes the steps carefully, and the maids and guards see him coming, and hastily open doors for him. Voices are hushed as he moves, and people nod their heads in lieu of saluting. Everyone understands that the El is not to be woken, not until he is ready to wake himself. At least, that’s the thought until he’s on the steps towards his rooms, and a voice rings out.

“There you are! Young man, wake up this instant! I demand to speak with you!”

And Eleven, true to Hendrik’s teachings, jerks awake. So fast, Jasper barely has time to move his head and avoid smashing his chin against El’s forehead, or change his grip so the boy doesn’t tumble from his arms. He manages, if only just, and Eleven’s gaze darts around as he pants, eyes wide. He settles on Jasper, relaxes, and then the voice comes again, and he tenses all up again.

“Eleven! Young man, you will rescind these accusations against my granddaughter immediately, do you hear me? Immediately!”

Charging down the steps of the King’s chambers, Dunstan has eyes only for the boy in Jasper’s arms. Behind him on the landing stands the King, Princess Jade, Lord Robert, Sylvando, Erik, Serena and Veronica, Amber, and Gemma. Most of them look upset - noticably Lord Robert and Sylvando, the second who is shaking with barely-disguised rage. 

“Eleven!” Dunstan thunders again. “Rescind them! Immediately!”

Jasper ducks his head down, tucking his body sideways to shield them from sight, murmuring in El’s ear. “Is this a battle you are willing to face? If not, I can have you up in my rooms in a second. You can lock the door behind you, and I will deal with them.”

Truth be told, Eleven doesn’t look any better he did the first night this all started. He’s pale and stressed, but he’s biting his lower lip, and he whispers back, “If I run, they’ll just keep making demands. I can’t keep putting you between me as a blockade, no matter how much I want to. I need to deal with it.”

“Then I will be at your side. They will not touch you, and they will make no demands of you that you are not ready to meet. If you do, ignore them. If they try to touch you, pull back. I am at your command, Eleven. You need only give the word.”

“Let me down, please,” El whispers, and Jasper does, carefully kneeling and letting El find his balance. Dunstan tries to grab at El over his shoulder, and Jasper shoulder-checks him hard enough to send him stumbling back a few paces. He hears Rab and Sylvando both hiss, infuriated.

“You dare--” Dunstan starts, but pales as Jasper rises like a snake uncoiled, and comes to stand at full height before the man, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He won’t pull the weapon, not unless Eleven tells him to, but this man does not know that. All he knows is that his target his behind a man bigger than he with a weapon. A protector. 

Moments later, Hendrik appears from the stables, takes one look at the situation, and moves to support Jasper on Eleven’s right. Like Jasper, he keeps one hand on his hilt. 

Jasper feels more than sees the great breath El pulls into his lungs. Feels him settle down like he would if he were fighting.  _ Correct,  _ he thinks, because no longer is this something that seems able to be dismissed with words. 

If they must cut these people down to give Eleven the freedom he desires, so be it.

“I will not rescind my words,” Eleven says calmly, chin lifted, voice carrying. Like a proper Prince. And both of Heliodor’s knights see King Carnelian nod just slightly, gaze fixed to his charge. “They are true. I respect you all, Amber, Dunstan, Ella. But I will not stand here and lie about what my own feelings are concerning this matter. Your daughter disgusts and frightens me. I do not desire her in any way, shape or form. I will not marry her based on something you wished for when we were children. And I will not remain silent while you attempt to demand my rights as a person be taken from me, because all you see me is as a  _ child,  _ even in the face of what I have undergone. I am a  _ human being,  _ and I demand to be recognized as such. If you can’t or won’t, then I will renounce my heritage from Cobblestone, I renounce my ties from its people, and I will find a new home here in Heliodor.”

“We welcome you gladly, Prince of Dundrasil,” King Carnelian speaks. “You have heard his words, folk of Cobblestone. This Prince rejects your demands, and has asked that you recognize him as a young man, not a mere child. What say you?”

To Jasper’s surprise, it is the surrogate mother who comes forward to speak. “I don’t understand, love,” she pleads softly. “You and Gemma were so close as children. What happened? Don’t you want to stay with us?”

_ Emotional manipulation,  _ Jasper thinks, and his fingers tighten a tad more over his sword.  _ She’s trying to find a weak point.  _

“I got tired of being followed. Of being told what would happen when I grew up, when we got married. It’s why I stopped talking. Why I stopped being around Gemma. I tried to distance myself, but none of you would let me. You chided me for refusing her, told me  _ it’s just the way things are.  _ But there’s no place else in the world that acts like that. Where it’s  _ normal  _ to have children stalking each other, making demands of each other even before they’re into adulthood. The relationships I’ve seen… they’re not like that. Mom and Dad didn’t act like that. And I bet granddad never acted like it with his wife, either.”

Robert chuckles. “Yer daft if ye think she’d let me get away with somethin’ as foolish as that,” he says softly. “Tay proud for sic’ pish. Tay sensible. Ah ne’er wanted tae try. Smotherin’ each other loch ‘at - it’s nae a healthy thing. Relationships shooldnae be loch ‘at.

“No, they should not,” Carnelian adds. “My own wife would have had me on the chopping block in an instant if I had tried anything so foolish as to tell her where to go or who to see. Partners are not meant to devour each other in marriage. It is not one or the other. It is both. Push and pull. Give and take. One’s desire does not outweigh the other. And one’s happiness over the other should not be paramount.”

Dunstan huffs. “Hmph! Well that’s you folk out here. But in Cobblestone--”

“We’re not  _ in  _ Cobblestone!” El yells, and everyone in the room tenses. “Stop saying that like it’s some kind of… protection against what you’re doing! It’s terrible, no matter what you say, or what defense you put up! You’re telling me I have no choice in who I marry, that even if I fall in love with someone else, someone who makes me feel like they’re my sun, stars, moon and sky, that I have to marry  _ her  _ just because we were kids born at the same time?!”

“It’s the proper tradition!” Dunstan argues.

“Tradition doesn’t mean we should follow it blindly!” El points out. “Following without ever asking questions is why I almost died! Why did nobody think it was strange that night, that Carnelian suddenly called me the Darkspawn, that he claimed my father came at him with a sword? Why did nobody stop and do the math, and wonder why, sixteen years later, he called a  _ child  _ the Darkspawn, and wanted me thrown in the dungeon for no other crime than that of existence? Blindly following things is how we wind up killing good people, innocent people, or hurting others. It’s not a sound judgement, it’s never  _ been  _ a sound judgement, and it never will be, so  _ stop using it!” _

In the ringing silence, only El’s soft panting can be heard. Jasper keeps his eyes on the old man. Dunstan’s shrewd gaze has not budged from El once.

“You led her on,” he growls at last. “You dishonored her. It’s your job--”

“ _ I didn’t lead her on!”  _ El screams, and Hendrik takes a step forward, his presence seeming to double and fill the room. Jasper lets himself slide his saber forward a little, the hiss of steel a warning. “I’m literally sixteen, how can I lead her on when I’ve spent my time traveling the world trying to save everyone from Mordegon?! But more to the point, stop making it sound like I’m her only option in life! She can fall in love with someone else for all I care! I’ve heard plenty of guys around town talk about how’d they love to take a shot at her! Pick one of them!”

“Have you fallen in love with someone else?” Ella demands, and she steps up beside her husband, gaze cold. “Who is it? Who is the faithless shrew who led you astray?”

Gasps; El’s face go blank. So utterly blank that for a second, Jasper thinks he’s locked up. 

But it isn’t El who speaks next.

“That honor would go to me.”

Erik saunters down the steps, expression curiously calm. He brushes past Dunstan, circles behind Hendrik, and curls an arm around El’s shoulders, the other on his hip as his feet cross behind him. His gaze latches onto the old woman. “Got a problem?”

Jasper expects an explosion from Lord Robert, but when he glances upwards, he finds an expression of something like smug contentment on the old man’s face. Sylvando is smirking like a cat who's had both the prized canary and the koi fish for breakfast, and is fixing to start blaming the dog for something or other. The others seem equally calm about it.

As if they’ve known.

Ella and Dunstan sputter and gape, but no words emerge. Perhaps because Erik’s eyes are so utterly dark with vicious, violent promises if they say anything. He’s certainly come a long way from the wandering tomcat who refused any and all affection. Now he winds himself around the people he loves, and displays claws and teeth to anyone outside that incredibly small circle.

But for the man under his arm in particular? Jasper has no doubt he’ll rip these people to shreds. 

“Thief.”

The word is barely breathed. But Jasper hears it. And so too does Erik. Rather than be offended by Gemma’s insult, he adopts a devil-may-care smirk, and shrugs. 

“Well yeah, I gotta eat somehow. But also, you’re pretty stupid, letting a guy like  _ this  _ wander around by himself. Soft heart, easy on the eyes, good with a weapon… he was practically  _ begging  _ to be snatched up. And lucky for me, he wasn't averse to being snatched. Too bad, so sad, maybe next time.”

Jasper feels like there’s more waiting to be said. With the expression on her face, it’s clear Gemma wants to say much more, the poison on her tongue ready to be launched. And yet all she does is curl her hands into fists at her side, spit out, “ _ Fine,”  _ and stomps down the stairs, past them all, and out the door. 

Amber sighs and murmurs, “Whatever makes you happy, I suppose.” But the look she flicks over Erik makes it clear what she really thinks. All Erik does is bare his teeth in a far too sharp grin that has her hurrying out the doors, Dunstan and Ella tottering out at their own pace, still stunned. 

The doors are all but slammed shut behind them, and everyone at last breathes a heavy sigh. It’s over. 

“Uh, El? You okay? El?” 

Erik gently nudges his partner, and then lets out an alarmed noise as El’s body sinks to the floor.

“He fainted,” Hendrik notes.

“Surprised?” Jasper asks, putting his sword down and kneeling next to the unconscious boy, getting beneath one arm while Hendrik gets beneath the other. He isn’t heavy, not even remotely, but it’s been a long day, and he’s ready for bed himself. Hendrik knows that. 

“No, but I honestly thought he’d stayed awake through it all.”

“Family is complicated. With something like  _ that  _ hounding your heels, you’re allowed to pass out.” 

They head for El’s quarters, both of the “conveniently” ignoring the next sound Erik makes as Sylvando and Lord Robert double-team the young man, each setting a hand on his shoulders, an almost manic grin on their faces.

“Oh honey? We need to have a little chat, I’m thinking. You know, catch up.”

“Aye. Methinks it’s time for a sitdown wit’ ye, lad.”

Erik’s face is like paper. “I don’t suppose I can veto that idea?”

“Nope.”

“Nay.”

“Oh. Well then. L-lead the way, I guess?”

Jasper almost feels sorry for the poor fool.

Almost.

  
  


x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

  
  


Life goes on. 

El wakes up, and cries. Jasper is there, and it is awkward and terrible, and El apologizes a million and one times as he blows his nose in Jasper’s handkerchief. He mentally flounders as he goes down a disconcertingly short list of  _ comforting things to say to a crying Luminary,  _ and surprising nobody, comes up miraculously short handed. 

“I just,” El bawls. “I hate that they were family, and I-I couldn’t--”

Of course he has to stop every sixth or seventh word to sob like he’s been grievously wounded, while Jasper makes what he hopes is ‘appropriately sympathetic noises’. They would probably be more sympathetic, if El weren’t busy getting his snot  _ all over his favorite handkerchief.  _

Still. He stays until El falls asleep, and when he meets Hendrik the man takes one look at him and grins evilly.

“Had your first taste of Eleven crying, have you?”

“You utter  _ bastard,  _ Hendrik,” Jasper hisses, and whips his sword out. “I am going to cut you.”

“You can try,” his opponent laughs, and they duel it out right there in the hallways like they did when they were children. And just like when they were children, they get spotted and scolded by Carnelian, while Lord Robert laughs his ass off in the background, wheezing about how  _ tae bairns ne’er learn!  _

It’s embarrassing, and he hates it. But he doesn’t hate how laughing with Hendrik makes him feel, or how Carnelian scolding him makes him feel lighter, like a burden has been lifted from his shoulders. 

He still has a long way to go, much like Heliodor herself. The town is still mostly destroyed, the guards are few, and what little nobility has return are already making complaining noises about this or that tiny nuisance that must be fixed at once, or else their quality of life will surely not survive.

He has not atoned, not completely. But in helping El find peace with himself, with his former family, he feels himself making the correct steps forward. In time, he will finish this task, and then he will be a true knight of Heliodor once more. But until then, he still has dishonor lingering on him, and so he marks himself such.

He doesn’t expect Hendrik to choke on his breakfast the next morning, when he comes downstairs in his woolen undershirt and pants, his hair only down to his ears. The man stares at him like he’s never seen him before, milk dripping down his chin. 

“What? I know it’s different, but honestly Hendrik--”

“Um,” the man manages. He blinks like he has to remember to do so, and then stammers out. “Y-you look nice. Um. It’s good. On you. Um.”

His stomach clenches, and Jasper turns his gaze to his breakfast, kicking the part of him that wants to swoon aside. There will be time to preen later. “Hm. That’s nice.”

Carnelian’s only response is to raise his eyebrows over the lunch session and smile mysteriously. It takes Sylando pressing his face into a napkin for Jasper to pay attention - the man is  _ laughing  _ behind it, and when Jasper traces his gaze to find out why, it’s to discover Hendrik has stuck his elbow in the porridge and appears to be too busy staring at Jasper to realize. 

El takes one look at them and signs, with a perfectly innocent expression, “So, when’s the wedding?”

Jasper gives into temptation, and flings a crumpet at him.


	5. Cold Skin Verse | Cobblestone

**Cold Skin 'Verse**

**What if...** Gemma learned to survive in a different way following the fall of Yggdrasil?

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The Fall of Yggdrasil, as it later came to be known, is one of the most terrifying, horrible things to ever happen to the world. The tree falls, and the sky grows dark, and the monsters come out in swarms, red eyes burning as they raze houses, farmland, and lives to the ground.

In the first few nights alone, there are many deaths. Too many to count. Some see the chaos coming, and just give up. The old, the infirm, or the too young - those are the first to go. Mothers shelter babes with their bodies, fathers protect children, but it isn't enough. The monsters are too many, too voracious, too set on destroying everything they see. 

There is so much blood. That is what Gemma remembers most. The bodies, twisted, torn, ripped apart. Very few go unscathed. 

She's out in the farmland between Cobblestone and Heliodor when it happens - her memory of it crystal clear, and yet in nothing more than flashes here and there as lightning crackled and thunder rolled. She remembers dropping down flat across the soil as the screaming started, something in her hind brain jerking itself awake, something primal in her instincts overriding all else.

Suddenly it didn't matter that she was a young lady, that she was dressed like this or that. It didn't matter that only hours before, men of the village had been teasing her about waiting for El to come back to her safe and whole. It didn't matter that her grandmother had asked her  _ what would you do without him, eh? _

Blood soaks the soil, soaks Gemma's clothing. That is what saves her. The dress is ruined, but she doesn't care. She presses her cheek to the cold soil of the world, and listens to the screams of the dying around her.

Eventually, the monsters leave. Eventually, they find no more living - and there is she blessed, for the blood of the dead soak into her clothing, and without movement, the monsters think her dead - and they leave.

And for a long time, there is silence.

Eventually, Gemma finds energy and stands. 

She doesn't want to look. But she can't help it.

Even as bile rises in the back of her throat, she looks. 

Children, women, men. No one was spared. Everyone out in the fields is dead. Gore splatters the plants, intestines, lungs, hearts scattered around. Chunks of flesh line the field. A few decapitated heads lie between plants. She's shaking, but she can't stop looking. Her stomach twists, but she doesn't get sick.

No. Instead, the animal instinct in her brain tells her  _ we need to move, we aren't safe in the open _ . And her legs follow the command, even as the rest of her goes curiously numb. Suddenly she can't remember how to get back to Cobblestone. She can't remember anything, there's just the voice in the back of her mind steering her along that sounds like her, but she's never been that sharp.

Growing up, she's always heard  _ what would you do without Eleven? _

_ That boy takes care of you so well, without him I don't know what we'd do. _

_ I'm sure he'll look after you. _

_ You and he will be happy together, Gemma. _

It's always been about Eleven taking care of her. She's accepted that she's not smart enough to take care of herself. That she's not brave enough, not charming enough. She's lacking a critical  _ something _ , that's what she gets told growing up. Eleven is brave and smart and can fix everything, and so she should rely on him to help her take care of her, because she can't do it herself.

But Eleven isn't here now. He isn't in the field, telling her with gestures and looks  _ we need to move, we can't stay still _ . She is the only one here. 

She doesn't know what to do. She's never felt so afraid, so cold.

And yet, she does know. She keeps moving. She stays to the shadows, stays out of sight. At the first hint of movement other than herself, she collapses into the grass like a puppet with her strings cut, and closes her eyes. 

Twice, it is just the wind. Four times it is monsters, looking for survivors. One comes over to her, and rolls her over, jabbing her as if to test that she is dead. It grumbles when she doesn't squirm or scream, and wanders off. 

Eventually however, the blood on her skirt and skin and hair crusts, and dries. And there are more bodies the closer to Cobblestone she gets, more people she recognizes - and a truly abhorrent thought comes into her head.

_ They'll smell I'm alive without fresh blood. I have to keep moving. I have to get to safety. _

And so even as part of her mind screams with disgust, her hands dip down into open chest cavities or pull still-dripping organs to rub along her skin and clothing like a soap bar. She leaves dripping in red, and when the next wave of monsters comes and she drops to the ground, they don't pause to sniff at her - they move past. Looking for the living.

She keeps going.

  
  
  
  


x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

  
  
  


It takes her three days.

Once upon a time, the walk back to Cobblestone from the outer fields would have been half a day at most. But the monsters prowl constantly, always looking for more to take, to kill, and she has no choice but to hide or play dead each time. She eats blackberries from bushes she finds in the undergrowth, and drinks water from a small stream she finds on her second day. 

She almost gets caught, that time.

Too eager to drink, she almost doesn't hear the wingbeats of the gryphon in time, and she collapses right there. The gryphon lands seconds later, but it doesn't immediately go for the water. Instead its talons hook into the back of her shirt, through the thin fabric and slicing open the skin of her back as it pulls and tugs her, testing for a reaction. It throws her into a stone wall, and then waits.

Somehow, she's able to stop a flinch, stop any reaction. It's curious that she feels almost no pain from any of the rough handling - possibly because the panic spearing her is so overwhelming. 

_ If I die here, I can't keep my promise to El,  _ she thinks, again and again as the gryphon grabs her and throws her again. _ I can't die. I just can't. _

The creature gets bored with her after a couple more moments, and takes to the skies again. She waits twice as long as before, and then gets up. Suddenly the open wounds on her back sear, and she can feel every collision with the stones she's had. She's bleeding, but it's her own blood this time.

_ Good, _ she thinks.

And limps onward.

Cobblestone had just started the rebuilding efforts of their town prior to the fall of Yggdrasil, and now even those have been destroyed. But in their place there's fences - massive, towering gates, and Heliodor soldiers standing outside those gates, speaking to a man in yellow and blue. For a moment, the sight confuses Gemma.

Then someone spots her.

"C-Commander!"

Her legs give out less than a moment later, the exhaustion and adrenaline crash doing her in as the man in yellow and blue whirls, and his eyes go wide. She blacks out before she can hear what he says.

When she comes to, she's in a tent, on a bed, and Amber and her own family are sitting in chairs around a small table on the other side. They all jump to their feet as she sits up, and Amber rushes to her.

"Gemma dear, what on Erdrea happened to you? They're saying they found you outside, covered in blood--"

Everything comes rushing back in a second. And she can't hold it back anymore.

"I'm going to be sick," she announces softly, and there's a curse and a blur of movement behind Amber as Gemma coughs, and then retches into a chamber pot that wasn't there a second ago. There's exclamations, but she can't stop. The terror and fear overwhelm her, and it's like she's being slammed back into her own body, the reality of the situation hitting her entirely.

"It's alright now, she's fine," a male voice says, and hands press hers around the pot. "It's the trauma - seeing the dead is never pleasant. Take some breaths, get your bearings back. Easy, now."

She recognizes the voices after a moment - Sir Hendrik, dressed in yellow and blue. He's remarkably patient and unfazed as she spits, and he hands her a cup of water and says, "Spit."

It washes some of the taste out of her mouth, at least. Amber hands her a cloth to wipe her face with, and her grandfather takes the pot outside to dispose of the mess. Grandmother Ella holds her hands between her own chilled ones, and murmurs, "Darling girl, you've been through so much!"

"I'm sorry about that," Gemma offers to Hendrik. The man merely shakes his head.

"You do not need to apologize for reacting to the horror of what is happening around you. You are a victim much as any of us.” A pained, regretful look casts over his face before being shaken off. “Was there anyone else with you? Any other survivors you’re aware of?”

Gemma slowly shakes her head. “Not that I saw, no.” She’d seen plenty of bodies, but no living ones. No one struggling to get up out of the dirt, to run or hide from the ruin. It had just been her out there, the road long and silent save the call of beasts as they feasted. “Is...is El here?”

“No dear,” Grandma Ella consoles, patting her hand. “But I’m sure he’s fine, wherever he is. He’s a strong lad.”

Again, that pained, regretful look falls over Hendrik’s face. The man sharply turns away. She catches the muttered breath of  _ ‘my fault’  _ as he exits the tent. 

His fault? All of this? Doubtful, Gemma thinks. She wants to pursue him, but her body is crying out for more sleep, more rest, for ignoring the reality of the world just a little longer. So she rests, and reminds herself to ask Hendrik about the nonsense later.


	6. Cold Skin Verse | Exile

**Cold Skin 'Verse**

**What if...** Gemma learned to survive in a different way following the fall of Yggdrasil?

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The days pass slowly in the place that was once Cobblestone. Hendrik goes out each day, and brings people far and near to their little safe spot. He’s always covered in the blood of monsters, and his soldiers always tell stories of his victories. How he pushes back against the unbelievable numbers and gets the survivors out. How he doesn’t flinch in the face of danger, or struggle against what to do. He never locks up like Gemma did out in those fields.

She doesn’t want to stay in the tent forever. And she doesn’t want to go back outside, but she can’t just sit by and do nothing. Amber has the young ladies of the village doing crochet and needling, making blankets and clothing from the wool of the few animals they managed to save before the monsters came. But Gemma finds picking up the needles does nothing for her - if anything, it only instills in her a greater feeling of helplessness.

The world is dying, and she’s doing needlework. It’s like the punchline of an especially bad joke. She draws away from the needlework, and turns her attention towards the new fields they’ll need to make in the area they have. The soldiers have cleared a spot in the back, between the rocky cliffs. But when she tries to help, she’s shooed off. 

“No place for a woman’s hands,” she’s told. It’s not said unkindly, but it burns like she’s been smacked. “Go to Amber dear, she’ll teach you how to make blankets. We always need more of ‘em.”

She’s forced to retreat, unwilling to make an argument when so many curious eyes are watching. But it’s clear she’s unhappy - and thinking back, she’s beginning to catch a pattern. When a man was involved beside her, it was fine for her to do these things. To work the fields, or help the horses, or tend to this or that. When Eleven was around, it was regarded as a good thing, because they were bonding. Working together, like partners. Future married partners.

But now she doesn’t have Eleven, and they won’t let her do it. They talk about her hands getting damaged, about her clothing getting ruined, her hair matted and destroyed. About her appearance. They don’t look at her and see a survivor, they look at her and see an unmarried girl of the village. Tradition persists, even now, and it’s taken Gemma dragging herself through blood and mud and gore to finally realize just how terrible a tradition it is.

So she goes to the soldiers. Offers them help. Tells them, “I don’t like to sit still, and they won’t let me help with the fields. Can I help you instead?”

The soldiers understand her. Some of them come from similar backgrounds - they’ve survived terrible things, and left their homes in search of people who understand. So they let her help.

They show her how to clean, and shoe a warhorse without startling it, because they’re trained differently than the village horses. They show her how to clean a sword. How to re-string a bow. How to fix armor and patch leather. 

Her hands burn beneath the stress of the work. She’s never handled anything stronger than sheep hide before, and it shows. But she grits her teeth and pushes on, and pours her frustrations into those tasks the soldiers give her. There are so many, and there’s always something to do.

Her grandparents beg her to reconsider.

“Dear, that’s men’s work. You’ll hurt yourself if you try to haul around those heavy bits of armor,” her grandmother starts, gently trying to dissuade her. 

Her grandfather is less gentle. “Do you think Eleven is going to want to marry a girl who has a man's hands?” He snatches her wrist, shakes it. “Look at this!”

She’s wrapped her hands in bandages, provided by one of the older soldiers who remembers the pain of putting untried hands against leather and metal. _“It helps toughen them up without breaking skin,”_ he’d said, and left her to work after showing her how to wrap them. The bandages have become frayed at the edges, dirty, and her skin, pink and callusing, peeks out.

She pulls her hands away. “I’m not going to marry Eleven,” she snaps, and ignores the gasp and the wide-eyed looks of shock she gets from both of them. “And I’m tired of you treating me like I’m a doll instead of a person. I crawled through _filth_ to survive, coated myself in the blood of dead men to live just one more day. If Eleven can go out and slay monsters and not be regarded as strange, I should be able to do this much.”

“Dear don’t say such frightening things!” her grandmother begs, wringing her hands. “Everyone has their place in the world, you shouldn’t--”

“Shouldn’t what? Try to be better than I am? Do you really think Cobblestone is ever going to go back to the way it was, after this? It shouldn’t, and I’m not going to be forced into a mould I’m no good at. I’m tired of it!” She marches off, ignoring the calls from her grandmother, and the harsh words from her grandfather. 

She embraces her work instead. Gradually, she learns a few friends among the soldiers. Gradually, she loses her friends in the village. They aren’t openly hostile, but it’s clear she’s crossed a line, and she is no longer regarded as one of _theirs._ As a Cobblestonian. 

Her arms grow stronger, her hands tougher. She asks for more tasks, more to learn when it becomes apparent she knows everything there is to know about the ones she’s been given. She expects to be brushed off, but instead the commander of the post in Hendrik’s stead grins.

The soldiers have a seperate farmstead from those of the villagers, to supply their own men and women - quite literally to feed the army. It’s here that Gemma finds herself shown next, along with a handful of younger men and women who are evidently cadets of some kind. The oldest soldier in charge shows them how to till and fields, revitalize them, pull the weeds, sow the seeds, and then care for the plants in an forever-overcast world. 

She goes home - or at least, the tent that is now home, ecstatic that she’s finally being allowed in. Allowed to be _useful,_ and nobody is batting an eye over it. At least, she’s ecstatic until she draws closer to home, and then her steps slow, and finally stop as she realizes what she’s seeing.

Her stuff is out in front of the tent. Piled neatly, but piled all the same. The tent flap is tied shut. 

The message could not be clearer.

“Are you shitting me right now?” a voice says behind her, and Gemma startles, whirls. She finds the commander of the post standing there, two of his men - men Gemma recognizes and attempts to smile to - flanking him. “They’re pullin’ this shit _now,_ when we’ve a crisis going on?”

Gemma wishes she had the energy to be that outraged. She should be - this is _stupid,_ to cast someone out for the simple act of not following tradition. And it _is_ an exile, she knows, that will last long after this whole war is done and over with. As soon as it's safe to leave, they’ll be pushing for her to get out. Nobody will accept or shelter her, not even the local priest. She’s been left to find her own way, with nothing but the clothes on her back, and a _good riddance_ hanging over her head.

All because she refused to stay in the mould she’s been assigned.

The commander sighs, explosively. Gemma sorts through what little she has quickly. The jewelry can stay here on the porch, but the clothing she’s going to keep. If she can’t use it here, she can repurpose it into rags, rolls of cloth for staunching wounds, _something._ The shoes are heeled, but the heels can be cut down and made flat. 

“Right you,” the commander says as she finishes, and rolls everything into a bundle, tucking it under her arm. “We’ve room at the camp, if you don’t mind bunking with the cadets.”

“Not at all,” she agrees. “Thank you, sir.”

He waves her thanks away, and to her mild surprise, spits at the foot of the tent. “Buncha pricks,” he mutters.. “You don’t toss yer damned kids out just because they want a life for themselves, and you sure as fuck don’t do it during a fucking _crisis._ Ya just feckin’ _don’t.”_ He shakes his head, goes to continue the patrol before remembering something. “You’ll want the blond kid named Alaster. Bit of a snobby one, but he’s got a good heart. Tell ‘im what went on, and I sent ya, and he’ll let you in.”

She’s cheered that someone understands. She finds the tent easy enough, and politely ‘knocks’ on one of the side supports. A freckled blond boy pokes his head out. “Oh, you’re Gemma, ain’tcha? The commander want somethin’?”

She quickly explains the situation, and tells him the commander has given her permission to bunk with them. He nods, like this is everyday news, and sweeps the tent flap aside. “You’re on the right, then. It’s not much, but it’s a roof over our heads, and a place to sleep.”

The cots are small; stern against her back. It’s quite the juxtaposition - she’s gotten used to bedding that, perhaps while not filled with the downy feathers of ten thousand geese, was at least warm and comfortable. The cot is hard and flat, cold, with a smell of sweat and medical supplies. It looks like it won’t hold her weight, but it does - Alaster snorts at her expression when it does.

“Relax. I know those things look flimsy, but they’ll hold quite a bit of weight. They’ve held the commander and his men up all this time, after all. I doubt you’ll be much of a burden on ‘em.” He pulls one of the blankets off his bed, snaps it out a couple times. “Given I was by myself, I was using both blankets. I’ll go give this one a wash - don’t want you catchin’ anything I got.”

“I don’t mind doing it,” Gemma offers. One thing her time among the soldiers has taught her well is that you take responsibility for your own equipment. The horses and the weapons are more or less universal, grabbed by whoever needs them at the time. But the more personal things like medical kits or supply bags or bedding? Those are dealt with by one person, and only one. “It’s my responsibility, after all. Do you want me to wash yours while I’m down there?”

The offer is a test. He clearly knows it too, if the little eye roll he gives is any indication. “Nah, its alright. Thanks though.” He folds her blanket up neatly, and offers it out. “You got a toothbrush ‘n all?”

She has a hairbrush, but not much else. “Hair brush, clothing, shoes. It’s about it, really.”

He clicks his tongue. “S’nah,” he says. “Ya don’t want to have to rip your teeth out right now, trust me. So, when you’re goin’ down to the river, the second path that splits, that one that leads over to that big tree? Second tent on your right is the supply and munitions tent. Go in there, tell ‘em what’s goin’ on, assuming they haven’t heard it through the grapevine already, and they’ll kit ya up. If they give ya shit over it, put your foot up their arse and tell ‘em unless they want both _me_ and the commander comin’ down for their heads, they’ll give you a damned basic supply kit.”

Her lips twitch into a smile. “Is that an offer of friendship and brotherhood then?”

“Psh, course. Alaster Owens, by the by.” He offers her a hand. 

“Gemma...Ward.”

He grins at her. “Careful there. Last names _stick_ round ‘ere. You sure you want ‘Ward’?”

She straightens her back, tucks her shoulders, raises her chin. “Yes,” she says. “Absolutely.” It’s fitting after all - she’s now technically a _ward_ of The Last Bastion. 

But she’s also determined that if nothing else should come of her time during this nightmare, she will learn to be more than she is. To _ward off_ evil by any means necessary for her loved ones to survive. Her grandparents and once-fellows might have shunned her, but that doesn’t mean she wants them dead.

She goes and gets the kit. The man behind the desk resembles the commander with his steely-eyed exhaustion, and he doesn’t give her an ounce of trouble. Merely looks her up and down once in an assessing way, looks at the blanket tucked under her arm, and gives a short nod. The kit he gives her feels packed heavy, but that’s likely just because she’s carrying a _soldier’s worth_ of kit. 

“You’ll want to get that hair cut,” he tells her, as she throws the blanket over a shoulder and hefts the pack in both arms. “Out on the field, it’ll get snagged and tangled. You’ll be dead in an hour if you keep it.”

She nods. “I don’t suppose there’s a neat hand here to cut it, aside from a quick shear with a blade?”

His lips twitch. “The one you bunked with will do it. Alastor’s always been the _fussy_ sort.” 

Which tells her word has spread already, and he was expecting her. “He seems decent enough.”

“Decent, yes. Delicate or polite? Hardly. Give ‘im what he gives you girl, or he’ll run you right over. And tell that bastard to stop threatenin’ my men already.” With that, he waves her on her way, and she goes.

She washes her blanket in the stream. There’s a bar of soap in the kit, among other things, including a straight razor that she debates using to cut her hair. But she’d rather not come back looking like some half-witted fool with uneven strands dangling everywhere, so she folds it back up and puts it away. 

She does wind up asking Alastor to cut her hair, which he’s only too happy to do. “Just lookin’ at you is giving me the heebies,” he complains as he drags his own straight razor across her scalp. He’s a deft hand, leaving her with an inch of peach fuzz across her head. But she looks _practical_ in the small mirror she finds among her equipment. Less like a lady, more like a survivor. A soldier. Someone willing to fight, not just meekly roll over and assume others will come and save her.

No, she’s very much done with that. And if El ever comes back, she’ll make sure to thank him for all he’s done, but insist she wants to stand on her own two feet from now on. She still wants to keep his friendship - he’s never done wrong by her, or given her reason to distrust him. And she would like to meet the other people he was traveling with, if they’re still with him. 

But before any of that, there’s one last thing she has to learn. She can dress and act the part of the soldier til’ kingdom come, but it does her no good if she can’t actually _fight._

  
  


X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

  
  


“I want you to teach me how to kill monsters,” Gemma demands.

Hendrik doesn’t bat an eye. “Impossible,” he says, not even turning from where he’s saddling his horse. “It’s not--”

“If you say ‘women’s work’, I’ll shank you,” Gemma states calmly, and _that_ gets his attention. He looks at her, and then _looks_ at her. 

In the three weeks since getting herself exiled from Cobblestone, Gemma has put more of herself into helping the soldiers. She’s also been employed recently by the blacksmith, who was only too happy to have someone who not only wanted to _know_ how to make weapons, but understand the science _behind_ it. The why and how and when and what. Not merely ‘stick a sharp blade in someone’s hand and call it a sword’. Blacksmithing is heavy work, and it is _dirty_ work. Heavy clothing to protect her from the forge flames, heat so intense she sweats no matter what, soot and dirt and ash from the fire and the forge as she slams a hammer against the heavy steel. 

She’s lean now. Her thighs, calves and arms are muscled, and she’s kept her hair deliberately short. Her earrings are gone, and she wears a dog tag around her neck to identify her, should she get cut down. She no longer looks like Gemma from the nearby village who once cried over a damned _headscarf_ getting stuck in a tree. 

(She’s embarrassed about that now. Seriously, a _ladder_ would have solved her problem. Why had she gone running to El? Not once even but _three times.)_

She looks like a soldier. Or a soldier’s daughter, at least. And she’s not come at him with flowery words, or begging for a chance. She’s come at him like a soldier would - and she has half a dozen _practical reasons_ for her to get trained. 

He assesses her. She holds still under his eye, keeping her hands at her sides. If she folds them, it makes her seem like she’s hiding something, or ashamed. She’s not either of those any longer. And she will never be again, she vows. 

He narrows his gaze, and walks around her. Prods at her shoulders, her back. Taps at her legs. Grunts, comes back to face her. Evidently, he wasn’t expecting her to have actually _worked_ to get this far. “There are other soldiers to teach you. Other men who can show you how to hold a blade. Why come to me?”

He’s right. There are groups of younger cadets who regularly get rounded up and shown how to fight. They’re given dummies to practice on in rotations, how to strike, where to aim. But dummies can only do so much. 

“Because I don’t just want to learn how to _fight,”_ she says, and hopes he hears and understands what she isn’t outright saying. “Knowing how and where to strike is good, but it does not compare to the actual mess outside. The war won’t wait for us to line up our strikes, or for our enemy to stand still. I know how to kill a man, but a monster is a different matter. You don’t go out killing _men,_ Sir Hendrik.”

He’s quiet for a long time. Weighing her words, weighing _her,_ and she holds her breath, waiting for him to turn her away and dismiss her. 

He doesn’t.

“Introduce yourself to Obsidian,” he orders brusquely, “Bow your head, say your name, ask if you may mount up. If he bows back, get on. If he doesn’t, we’ll find you another horse. You start today. Disobey _one_ order, and I’ll toss you out on your ass so fast your head will swim. Clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Then why are you still standing there?” he demands, and _this_ is the Hero come out, a man expecting to be obeyed without question. A harsh taskmaster, but one she can and _will_ rise up to meet.

She goes, and stands in front of Obsidian. The horse is much like his master as she bows waist up, hands at her sides. “Gemma Ward, Master Obsidian,” she says. “With your permission, may I mount up?”

The horse assesses her. He steps forward, nudges beneath her head with his nose, sniffs her. Steps back.

And bows. She waits until he straightens, and then does so herself. “Thank you,” she says, and gets a bob of the head. She mounts up, and a moment later Hendrik joins her, hands coming around to grip the reins. 

He doesn’t give her warning. Just nudges Obsidian towards the gate as it opens. The warhorse goes from a trot into a canter into a full blown run in what feels like a handful of steps. 

And then they’re out the gate, beyond the wall, and into the blackened, dying world, leaving the safety of her once-home far behind.


End file.
